


A Better Fate than Wisdom: About Truth

by Leandra



Series: A Better Fate than Wisdom [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arthur Finds Out About Merlin’s Magic (Merlin), Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Epic Love, Kissing, M/M, Magic Revealed, Merlin is a Little Shit, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Porn with Feelings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:56:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leandra/pseuds/Leandra
Summary: “Was everything else a lie, too?” he asked darkly, hating the desperation in his tone, thinking of the friendship he valued so much, of Merlin laughing at his jokes, of fighting side by side and how it had given him strength again and again, knowing that Merlin would always be there, would always choose to stand with him, no matter what. Of Merlin’s soft sob of pleasure, gasped into his mouth as his fingers clawed the small of his back.*-*Arthur finds out that Merlin has magic.Conclusion of the series.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: A Better Fate than Wisdom [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579525
Comments: 59
Kudos: 588
Collections: The Merlin/Arthur Kiss Fest 2019





	A Better Fate than Wisdom: About Truth

**Author's Note:**

> The last part in a four-part series for the Merlin/Arthur Kiss Fest 2019. 
> 
> Series Title comes from the e.e.cummings poem "since feeling is first": and kisses are a better fate than wisdom.
> 
> Thank you once again to raina_at for the beta.
> 
> Beautiful art by Sunfall_of_Ennien linked at the end (to avoid spoilers) - you are utterly brilliant!!!!

_I should be dead_ , was the first coherent thought running through Arthur’s brain when he came to. _Why am I not dead?_

Opening his eyes, he tried to take stock of his surroundings. He was lying in the snow, in the middle of the forest, the cold seeping through his cloak. Above him, the naked branches of an oak tree moved gently in a wintery breeze. 

“Arthur!” 

Merlin’s voice, rough and panicked. He turned his head into the direction where the shout had come from and immediately winced at a sudden dull ache at the back of his head. Merlin was running towards him, his long legs quickly closing the distance between them. Arthur jerked in surprise when Merlin skidded down in the snow beside him, his hands immediately reaching out to run them over Arthur’s body, checking for injuries. 

Merlin’s hands on him were frantic, his eyes wide and scared, and his panting breath clouded the air in front of his face. “Are you alright?” His fingers slipped over Arthur’s arms, ran over his chest and down his belly, pressing and fumbling, then up to his face, carefully feeling along his cheekbones and neck, his hands icy cold and trembling against Arthur’s skin. 

Arthur blinked up at Merlin’s face, pale but for the flush on his cheekbones, trying to get his wits together and mentally check his body for injuries other than the headache. He must have fallen from his horse and hit his head, at least that was where he assumed the dull throb at the back of his skull came from. Apart from that, he was a bit short of breath, probably from the impact, but his chest didn’t hurt and neither did his limbs. 

Merlin’s hands had found his sole injury as well, gentle fingers running over the lump that was forming at the crown of his head, the touch making Arthur wince. 

“No blood,” Merlin breathed out and he sounded relieved, slowly sliding his hands out of Arthur’s hair and sitting back up. He had a strange expression on his face, a shifty one, but Arthur decided not to question it in favor of slowly pushing himself up and confirm that nothing else was wrong with him. He groaned when dizziness made his head swim for a second. 

“Be careful. You might feel a bit out of it after that tumble,” Merlin told him, reaching for his arm to steady him. 

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember what had happened, why he had taken a fall. Where was his horse, anyway? His memory of the past five minutes came back to him in a rush, and he gasped, his fingers digging into the cold snow next to his hips as he was assaulted with images of what had happened. 

Merlin and Arthur had been traversing the Darkling Woods, an outing designed to relieve the terrible boredom of being cooped up in the castle over the long cold winter months. They had left the castle in the early morning, long before sunrise, clad in simple, but warm clothes to hunt some small game to bring back for the evening if they were lucky, nothing sophisticated, maybe a winter hare or snow hen. 

It had been Merlin’s idea and a very welcome one at that. It had gotten progressively colder since before Yule and they had been mostly confined to the castle. The winter months usually had a shortage of visitors and life at the castle was slowing down. They days were short and nights long and because it was cold and it was difficult keeping the big hall heated, people tended to go to bed early. A small hunting trip seemed just the right thing to break the monotony. 

The day had been beautiful, if cold, and they had made their way deep into the Darkling Woods, had ridden farther than they had had planned originally. The quiet of the wintery forest was soothing and the clear, fresh air smelled of snow and wet wood quite a welcome contrast to the cabbage-and-stale-sweat stink that permeated the castle in winter. They hadn’t been very lucky with game, but they had laid out snares in the morning and were hoping to find at least a hare or a woodcock. 

Just when they had decided to start their return trip, they had been attacked. Bandits, just two out-of-luck characters in shabby clothes and with primitive weapons, but the desperation of men who had not much to lose and everything to gain. The two men had seemingly come out of nowhere and Arthur cursed himself that he could have been so careless, lulled into the false sense of safety by the soothing quiet of the beautiful wintery forest. 

It had all happened so quickly and Arthur had had barely time to reach for the dagger in his boot (the light hunting crossbow he had taken on their trip was useless at such a close range). One of the men had pulled him from his horse, and Arthur - despite all his training - had gone down, hitting his head hard on a stone or fallen branch. Before he could come to his senses and fight back, a make-shift mace (an ugly, unrefined club with rusty nails sticking out of it) had been coming down towards his head - only, it didn’t. 

It didn’t, and there had been a surprised shout as the man was practically hauled back by an invisible force and flung against a tree, as if somebody had pulled him with tremendous strength - and there had been Merlin, with his arm raised, a stormy, dark expression on his face, his eyes … glowing. 

Arthur gasped out a surprised, ragged breath, then turned his head to look at his manservant sharply. 

Merlin was still kneeling besides him in the snow, looking frightened and wide-eyed, his mouth slightly parted, his tongue slipping nervously over his lips. He looked cagey, his eyes unable to hold Arthur’s penetrating gaze. 

“The men … One of them ran. The other ...,” he blubbered, his voice a little high and reed-thin. 

“You killed him,” Arthur said, surprised at the calm, somber pitch of his voice. He felt … numb, numb as if the snow had seeped into his very core, had frozen him from the inside. “You killed him. With magic,” he stated, his mind’s eyes replaying the scene of Merlin making the attacker fly through the air as if he weighed nothing. With narrowed eyes, Arthur watched Merlin’s expression go through a hundred emotions at once, the prevalent one being naked fear. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.,” Merlin huffed out dismissively after a much too pregnant pause. “You must have really hit your head ba-” 

“You killed him with magic,” Arthur repeated, sure now, knowing there was no doubt about what he had seen, irritation at Merlin’s quick dismissal of his observation and obvious attempt at a lie rising in him. “I saw you. Your eyes, they glowed golden!” 

Merlin’s face fell and he exhaled shakily. “Arthur....” he said softly, his voice anguished. 

Arthur pushed himself to his feet, his mind spinning. “Where are the horses?” he asked, looking around, his eyes taking in their surroundings, the stirred up snow, trampled by horse hooves and footprints, the corpse of the man who had attacked him lying crumbled near a large oak tree. 

“Gone.” Merlin’s voice was small, so terribly small. “They ran off in the commotion.” 

Arthur exhaled a sigh and wiped a hand over his face. Merlin had lied to him. Merlin had lied to him. Merlin had performed magic. Merlin was a sorcerer. Merlin had killed a man with magic. Merlin had magic, probably had had it all along. How had Arthur not known? 

Thoughts were circling in his head, repeating themselves over and over. His skin was crawling, as if he would burst from the inside out any moment. He was vibrating with this new knowledge and it made everything different. His whole life seemed to have turned around in just five minutes. Magic. Merlin had magic. He was a sorcerer. He was… He had… Arthur concentrated on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling evenly like he did before battle to calm his thoughts, turning to practicality instead. It was cold and getting colder with the passing of daylight and the sun would be going down within the next two hours. There was no time to ponder the lies and deceit. 

He huffed out a breath and concentrated on the here and now. 

“The horses probably returned home.” He cursed, stomping his foot and whirling up the loose snow in the process. “We must find shelter - we won’t make it back on foot to the castle before it gets dark.” 

“My lord... “. A touch to his arm startled him and Arthur looked down at Merlin’s long-fingered hand resting on his forearm in fingerless gloves, like an apology, like a reassurance that everything was alright, that this new revelation hadn’t turned everything he knew upside down. 

He felt anger well up inside of him, overriding the numb feeling from earlier, a violent frustration that churned deep in his belly and closed up his throat with a lump. He shrugged off Merlin’s touch, enraged by the suddenly submissive, placating tone of Merlin’s more often than not insubordinate voice.

“Shelter, Merlin,” he snapped with a glare, then brushed his manservant - a sorcerer! Gods help him, a sorcerer! - aside (and he might have knocked against his shoulder) and started to stalk over to where a lone bag fallen from Merlin’s horse had remained the only one of their possessions. He picked it up, brushing the snow off the leather, before flinging it harshly at Merlin who caught it clumsily with a hmphing sound, nearly doubling in half at the force Arthur had used. 

He didn’t wait for Merlin to catch up, but started to walk briskly, trying to get feeling back into his cold feet. His thoughts were a mess, a flood of memories and half-remembrances of weird and inexplicable things that had happened in the past. He realised that on most of these occasions, Merlin had been present. How could he have been so blind? How could someone so… so much like Merlin hold that much power? 

And exactly how much power did he have? 

*-*

It was cold and dark. Not castle cold with its drafts and cold spots, but just freezing. The scratchy wool blanket he had been given and the relative shelter the little shed provided were no match for the icy frost of a winter night. After walking for over two hours they had happened upon a small farmer’s hut just before nightfall at the edge of the woods, and the family of five had taken them in readily when they saw how cold and pathetic they looked, both of them blotchy red with the chill. 

Arthur could have revealed his identity and probably taken the best accomodation the family had to offer, but they had nothing, sharing a small hut with a single room and lumpy sacks of straw for a bedroll. Even so, the family had taken them in and allowed them to sleep in their lean-to, which was at least dry and free of snow and strewn with fresh rushes. It smelled heavily of sheep, but the animals gave off at least a modicum of warmth. There were four of them, dirty grey and huddled in a corner, bleating occasionally in their sleep. Arthur felt jealous for the body heat they shared and was debating whether or not he would join them in their corner before the night was through. 

The only other source of warmth was lying at his back, producing shallow, snuffling breaths and twisting and turning restlessly in the rustling straw. 

Arthur wasn’t able to sleep either, shivering under his blanket, his thoughts circulating around the new revelation the afternoon had brought. 

Merlin was a sorcerer. And he had hidden that fact from Arthur for years. How often had he used magic?, Arthur wondered. How often to finish some tiresome task? How often to play a prank on Arthur? How often to save his life? 

He was mentally going through certain events of the last couple of years, ever since he met Merlin, and there were so many occasions Arthur hadn’t been able to explain and had attributed to his good fortune. He had to retract all that, rewrite it with the knowledge that it had been very likely that Merlin had had his hand in the outcome. 

His emotions were conflicted, but he could clearly identify guilt. Guilt for the way he had treated Merlin, brushing him off when Merlin had said things like “I always have to save your arse” and “You couldn’t make it without me, you dollophead”, things he had cold-shouldered with a laugh, thinking Merlin was being playful and teasing. 

He had always seen Merlin’s potential, as an advisor and confidant, strong-minded strategist and clever problem solver. Merlin might have come from a peasant household, but he was intelligent and frighteningly educated. While most of the servants of Camelot couldn’t read, he was capable of not only correcting Arthur’s speeches, but embellish them, sometimes to a point where Arthur had had to admit that it had been Merlin who had written the speech, and not himself. 

But despite all that, Merlin was his servant, a clever, educated and brave one (if slightly incompetent when it came to deferential behaviour, etiquette and the simple daily tasks required of him), but still, a servant. Arthur had always thought that maybe, one day, when Arthur was king, he had a chance to honour everything Merlin had done for him by giving him another, a better job. Maybe, when Gaius retired, he would give Merlin the job of court physician. Of course, he could have always relieved Merlin of his duties, taken another servant, but he was selfish and not having Merlin by his side, day by day, was unthinkable. So Merlin had remained his servant, even if it meant they could never be really friends, never be… more. 

In his belly, the weak and thin pottage the farmer’s family had shared with them sloshed around dismally, and Arthur felt bad for his grumbling stomach, for being used to so much more and richer food. The food had barely done anything to sustain him and certainly didn’t hold up against the cold. He curled up tighter, drawing his knees to his chest as he shivered. 

Next to him, Merlin moved, the straw rustling as he turned, and then something light and warm settled over him, the blanket Merlin had been wrapped in, warmed by his body heat. 

“Take this, sire,” Merlin murmured, brushing a hand quickly down Arthur’s back, as if to settle the blanket and smooth out any wrinkles. 

Arthur clenched his teeth in agitated frustration, because it was such a Merlin-thing to do, and brushed the blanket off, tossing it blindly over his shoulder back at Merlin. 

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin,” Arthur growled, “you need the blanket just as much as I do.” He wrapped his own blanket tighter around his body, listening to the silence radiating against his back. They had barely talked since departing the clearing in the forest where the bandits had attacked them, Merlin shuffling along behind him meekly. Whenever their eyes had met, Merlin had flinched, looking scared and guilty. 

Next to him Merlin heaved out a sigh, before the flutter of fabric told Arthur that he was taking his blanket back. The following silence was even worse than the one before. Moments passed by, excruciating in the quiet. More than once Arthur wetted his lips to say something, but words wouldn’t come. 

It was Merlin who spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Arthur held his breath, unsure how to react. Wasn’t this what he wanted? An apology? He didn’t know if it was that simple. He desperately wanted a resolution, but maybe Merlin’s words, spoken so sincere and unembellished, weren’t enough. The silence stretched out between them again, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to break it. 

“What will you do?” Merlin’s next words, startling in the dark silence were filled with anxiousness and it riled Arthur, because what was Merlin thinking? That he would sentence him to death to be burned at the stake? 

“Well, what do you think I should do?” Arthur snapped, irritated that Merlin could possibly think that of him. Hadn’t they been through so much together? Hadn’t they shared so much? How could Merlin not trust him! Merlin, off all people. Merlin, who knew him so intimately and well, who had shivered and come apart in his arms? The thought brought back memories from a warm autumn day in the forest not so long ago, shared heat and deep kisses. They hadn’t spoken of it after, hadn’t acted on it either, because how could they, how could they, with him being heir to the throne and Merlin being his servant - but the few stolen moments had been burnt into Arthur’s consciousness, a treasure of could-be and almost-had-beens. Sometimes it was all he could think about, the taste of Merlin’s mouth, the feel of his skin under his tongue, the hard planes of his body, the sweet sounds spilling from his lips when he came. 

More silence, thick and seemingly impenetrable. 

What had Merlin to gain from keeping this from him? What was he using his magic for? Arthur couldn’t believe that Merlin would use it for any nefarious purposes, but then, Arthur was prone to be too trusting and it had often led to him being betrayed in the past. 

Arthur listened to the silence stretching between them, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“Was everything else a lie, too?” he asked darkly, hating the desperation in his tone, thinking of the friendship he valued so much, of Merlin laughing at his jokes, of fighting side by side and how it had given him strength again and again, knowing that Merlin would always be there, would always choose to stand with him, no matter what. Of Merlin’s soft sob of pleasure, gasped into his mouth as his fingers clawed the small of his back. 

Silence, more silence. “Was _everything_ a lie?” he repeated, the words coming out too loud and angry and bitter, cutting through the quiet. In the corner, a startled sheep bleated in protest. 

“No.” 

Merlin’s sure, quiet answer startled Arthur into turning around to stare in the darkness, where Merlin was shifting around now, cursing quietly under his breath. 

“ _Leoht_ ," Merlin muttered in the dark, and suddenly there was a sphere of light blinking into existence, hovering between them. It sucked the breath out of Arthur’s lungs, this casual, simple use of magic, the first one he had consciously witnessed Merlin doing. 

Merlin’s face was stricken in the soft blueish light of the sphere. “No, Arthur. How could you think that?” 

Arthur sat up as well, his eyes adjusting slowly to the soft light after having stared into the darkness of the shed for so long. “I don’t know - you tell me. You lied to me, Merlin. You betrayed my trust. You must have had some reason for doing that.” 

Merlin closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, taking a shuddering breath. “You must believe me, that everything I did was in your interest,” he said softly. “Everything I did was for you. When I use my magic, I use it for you, Arthur. To protect you. To make sure you’ll fulfill your destiny. It’s all for you.” Merlin’s voice was low and pained and charged with something else, something dark and promising. 

His confession shivered through Arthur like a lover’s touch, igniting a little flame of want. Arthur thought it a curious reaction, because Merlin had sworn his loyalty before, but never like this. And never before had Arthur understood just how much power lay in that oath of fealty. 

“I didn’t want to burden you with my secret. You would have needed to lie, too. Or do something. Sent me away, perhaps,” Merlin continued, exhaling an anguished sigh, as if the notion of being sent away was worse than death. 

“Instead you deceived me,” Arthur said, unable to keep the bitterness from his tone, his eyes flitting over Merlin’s pale, dejected face, taking in his furrowed eyebrows and the sad, downward angle of his plush mouth. “I would never hurt you. I never would.” His own oath, his own promise, given with certainty. He would cut his own limbs off before hurting Merlin, no matter what.

Merlin bit his lip, his eyes searching Arthur’s face. He was silent for a long time, as if considering Arthur’s vow. “Not everything was a lie,” he finally said, his voice hoarse, but firm. 

A tentative hand reached out, cupped Arthur’s cold face with warm fingers, stroking slowly, carefully across his jaw as if he was expecting to be rebuffed. The touch made Arthur sigh, and he held Merlin’s gaze, waiting. Merlin heaved a soft sigh and moved, sliding closer and purposefully into Arthur’s lap, settling astride his thighs so slowly, he gave Arthur ample time to push him away. Merlin’s body was radiating welcoming heat and Arthur felt no intention to shove him off. 

“What I feel for you…” Merlin started, once more cupping Arthur’s face, his thumb stroking over the corner of Arthur’s mouth, his eyes travelling from Arthur’s eyes to his lips and back, “... I’m yours, in whatever way you want me to be.” 

Arthur sucked in a breath, both at Merlin’s words as well as his touch, soft and gentle.

Merlin smiled at his reaction, a small, hesitant, beautiful thing that made the corners of his mouth quirk. “I’m utterly, desperately, _incomprehensibly_ fond of you. Even though you’re an infuriating, condescending, arrogant, beautiful prat.” 

Arthur, despite being suddenly so aroused that he could hardly breathe, choked out a brief laugh, that trailed off when he saw the earnestness in Merlin’s expression. 

“This,” Merlin said boldly, his gaze dropping down to Arthur’s lips, “isn’t a lie.” Arthur shuddered when Merlin’s lips - slightly chapped and having no right to feel so soft and warm - found his. He moaned into the kiss, the short, wet thing that it was. “It’s not a lie,” Merlin repeated in a whisper, his mouth coming back to bestow another brief brush of lips. Arthur’s hands found their way into Merlin’s hair and onto his waist and he pulled him closer, forward into his lap, rewarded by the hitch of Merlin’s breath. 

Merlin didn’t linger, pressing small, open-mouthed, noisy kisses against Arthur’s lips, his breath warm and moist when he exhaled in between, flitting over Arthur’s wet mouth, making him shiver not with cold but with delicious heat. Merlin gave a small push to his chest and Arthur allowed it, settling back in the straw with a sigh. In the light of the sphere, Merlin looked devastatingly handsome with his square jaw and lean body, his thighs strong where they bracketed Arthur’s waist. His black hair shone blueish, his eyes were dark, his lips wet and plump from kissing. He was looking a bit surprised but pleased by his own daring. Arthur couldn’t comprehend when he had ever thought he was weird looking. 

Nimble fingers reached out and loosened the clasp of Arthur’s cloak, letting the fabric fall aside. Merlin bit his lip as he let his fingers slid between the strings of Arthur’s tunic, trailing them over the exposed skin of Arthur’s chest. He grinned when Arthur sucked in a harsh breath - such a wicked, Merlin-like thing, that grin, just like when he was giving Arthur cheek - before he leaned down to press his mouth to the side of Arthur’s neck. His cold nose dragged across Arthur’s skin and Arthur squirmed, the movement brushing their groins together. Merlin’s soft laugh shivered over his neck, before he trailed his mouth down over his collarbone. His hands had slid under Arthur’s tunic, pushing it up and off, leaving Arthur’s hair dishevelled and revealing Arthur’s torso to the dim light that had now taken on a warm, yellow hue and was hovering to their right, suspended in mid-air. It bathed Merlin’s pale face with warmth and was reflected in the depths of his eyes.

“This is no lie,” Merlin whispered again, bent his head and dragged his mouth over Arthur’s stomach muscles upwards until his lips closed around a nipple, his hands following his tongue’s trail, stroking and caressing. He swirled his tongue around Arthur’s nipple like he maybe would with a girl, but Arthur didn’t even think of protesting, because it felt so, so good - and had he known that it would feel that good, he would have demanded it from everyone he had ever taken to bed. Merlin’s hair was brushing over his now sensitive skin as he trailed his mouth to the other nipple to give it a similar treatment, and Arthur arched his back into the soft touch, groaning softly. 

Merlin’s hands were sliding down over his pectorals, brushing his stomach and finally his trousers, his mouth following in a downward caress of open-mouthed, licking kisses, seemingly emboldened by Arthur’s response. 

“Merlin,” Arthur whimpered, feeling wrecked already and warm, so warm, despite the cold in the shack and the fact that he was half exposed. 

Merlin lifted his head, resting his chin briefly on Arthur’s hip bones, his smile soft, cheeks flushed as he took in the expression on Arthur’s face. 

“Let me show you,” he said, his voice lacking the embarrassment his face displayed, sounding sure and inexplicably dirty for it, “how much I worship you.” He pressed another kiss to Arthur’s abs, low beneath his belly button where a smattering of hair trailed down towards his groin. His fingers were busy if slightly clumsy, loosening Arthur’s trousers, brushing aside the fabric and pulling it down. 

Shuddering but not with cold, Arthur allowed Merlin to divest him of his trousers and boots, then lay down back on his cloak, watching as Merlin impatiently ripped his own tunic over his head, tossing it carelessly aside. There was a prominent bulge in Merlin’s trousers and Merlin pressed his hand there for a moment, flushing and smiling abashedly when he caught Arthur watching. He lowered his eyes, his long lashes fluttering against his cheek, trailing his gaze over Arthur’s body. His mouth gave a slight quirk when his eyes settled on Arthur’s arousal. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for months… I think … maybe even earlier, maybe since I met you and you were such an arse,” Merlin muttered, his eyes holding Arthur’s for just one more moment, his cheeks rosy, before he bent his head, pressing a kiss to the erect flesh of Arthur’s cock. 

“Shit, Merlin, you can’t say stuff like that…” Arthur protested, but trailed off on a groan when Merlin took him between his lips, his mouth warm and wet. Merlin made a sound against him, a satisfied, humming chuckle, his fingers trailing over Arthur’s groin and circling the base of his cock where his mouth couldn’t reach. It was so good, it was better than it had any right to be, and technically, there had been people with much more skill than Merlin sucking his cock, but right now, the sloppy slide of Merlin’s mouth was the best thing Arthur had ever felt. Hissing, Arthur wound his fingers in Merlin’s hair. 

Merlin’s fingers were pressing and stroking with confidence now with just the right amount of pressure and Arthur felt a little thrill at wondering if that was how Merlin got himself off on his own, with his finger’s tight and his thumb massaging over the taut skin. He got adventurous with his tongue, lapping and applying pressure, and that felt even better, and his free hand slid down to Arthur’s balls, cradling them briefly in his palm, before letting his fingers press just behind them, stroking against the stretched skin of his perineum. 

Arthur dug his heels in hard, nearly bucking Merlin off when a finger wriggled against his hole and he cursed, squirming away, cursed again when the finger returned and pressed more insistently. Merlin pulled off him, looking thoughtful, his finger still stroking, gently massaging the rim. “You … like that too?” he asked a bit hesitantly, biting his lips as he watched Arthur’s reaction. 

Arthur swallowed, feeling lightheaded and aroused and out of his depth. He knew of course how men did it, it wasn’t too hard to figure out and sometimes, when the men were among themselves at a feast and had had enough wine, they would talk about things like that, usually accompanied by all kind of dirty jokes and innuendos. He didn’t know what he had thought they were doing - mostly, he had thought he might be the one to take Merlin, considering their last encounters; but no, not with how Merlin was looking at him right now, all quirked, inquisitive eyebrows and flustered heat. He probably shouldn’t be surprised, because this was Merlin, clumsy and unpracticed but headstrong and brave. 

His silence was taken as permission to continue and Merlin ducked his head, whispered hoarsely against his skin, “You make me crazy…the things I want to do to you,” and the words, uttered in Merlin’s low, gravelly voice made Arthur tremble and close his eyes, his fingers sliding into Merlin’s mop of hair. Another lick to his erection made him push his hips up, but Merlin bypassed his cock and pushed his hands under his buttocks, pressing his lips high up into the crease of his thigh, mouthing there, drawing blood to the surface. Another licking bite, lower this time, and Arthur heard the blood rush in his ears madly, his fingers pulling and pushing at Merlin’s strands of hair, desperate. 

Merlin’s tongue drew circles on his skin, lower now, and Arthur felt embarrassed and wrung out and so terribly turned on. He flung an arm over his face, his mouth parted as he sucked in breath, Merlin’s fingers insistent as he dipped a digit inside of him. The touch made Arthur yelp, so intimate and foreign, but he couldn’t deny the heat that zinged through him. Hot breath trailed over his heated skin and then the touch of Merlin’s tongue where his finger had been, hesitant and gentle, but making him shake nonetheless. 

His reaction seemed to spur Merlin on, because Merlin heaved out a sigh, licked again, the flat of his tongue trailing over his crack, before its tip wriggled against the closed muscle. 

Arthur heard himself make an embarrassing “Ah”-sound, made it again when Merlin repeated what he had done, and the sound seemed to make Merlin bolder, indicated he was doing something right, because he grew more daring, pushing his tongue harder against Arthur’s skin, breaching the muscular ring to dip inside, like he had done earlier with his finger. Arthur gasped out a desperate breath, feeling his legs tremble, aroused and out of his depth. Merlin shifted with an impatient sound and then pawed the straw before pushing a wadded up blanket underneath Arthur’s hips. His arms slid over Arthur’s thighs, pushing them up and apart and Merlin ducked his head, placing his mouth back against Arthur’s pucker. It was done so quickly that Arthur couldn’t even comprehend what was happening, his mind reeling.

“Merlin,” Arthur groaned and pulled on Merlin’s hair, enjoying the answering whimper Merlin breathed out against him. He pushed forward again, sliding his tongue deeper and into him like he did when they were kissing, and it was the filthiest, dirtiest thing that anyone had ever done to Arthur and it was most likely also the best. Seemingly encouraged, Merlin continued to lick into him, making small, needy sounds as if he was enjoying himself just as much. 

“Merlin, fuck, … how …how do you know to do that?” he panted out shakily, jealous of everyone who had been on the receiving end of that much pleasure from Merlin’s lips before. 

Merlin pulled his mouth away and gasped out a breath. He could barely meet Arthur’s eyes, but when he did look up at him, it was like a punch to Arthur’s gut. Merlin’s eyes were heated and dark and he looked just as ruined as Arthur felt. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin said, his voice low and rough, “told me how.” 

Arthur’s face must have shown his sudden murderous thoughts at Merlin’s words, because Merlin’s flushed face brightened and he snorted out an unexpected, brilliant laugh. “He didn’t show me, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” 

“I would kill him,” Arthur pressed out between gritted teeth and reached out, brushing his fingers over Merlin’s lips, marvelling at the softness and warmth of his mouth. 

“You would,” Merlin whispered, embarrassment drowned out by a beaming grin, his hand finding Arthur’s erection, stroking him lazily, his smirk widening when Arthur hissed again. 

“He told me of this girl. She was so into him taking her from behind. She loved it when he fucked her arse with his tongue. I thought you might enjoy it, too.” He said it smugly if somewhat red-faced, like he knew what his words would do to Arthur and oh, right, he knew, that complacent bastard. 

Arthur released a string of curses, not knowing if he could deal with Merlin talking to him in that tone, with such words, but then Merlin dipped his head back down and continued where he had left off, really going for it and it did all kinds of things for Arthur until he couldn’t hold back any longer, pressing his hips downwards to meet Merlin’s thrusting tongue, the slide of Merlin’s warm fingers around his cock almost an afterthought. One hand reached for Merlin, clutched at his shoulder, his hair, the other buried in the folds of the cloak he was lying on, fisting the fabric between his fingers. 

Merlin’s elbow dug into his thigh, rhythmically so, and he spared a glance to confirm that Merlin was bringing himself off in jerky, uncoordinated movements. Groaning, Arthur dipped his head back, aroused by every push of Merlin’s bony elbow, not even caring that Merlin’s other hand faltered on the rhythm of Arthur’s cock. 

He was aware he was making a lot of noise now, and with difficulty he raised the arm not in Merlin’s hair and placed it over his mouth to stifle his moans, not wanting to wake the family who had taken them in. It proved a good decision moments later, because it muffled his shout when he came and spurted over his stomach and chest. 

When Arthur came to, Merlin was still hunched over between his legs, drawing breath in in shuddering, sobbing gasps, come dripping from his fingers. 

“Fuck, Merlin,” Arthur moaned, and it sounded reverent even to his own ears, but he couldn’t be bothered, swimming on a cloud of bliss. His body was drumming with ebbing pleasure, his heart rate quick like that of a small animal. 

Merlin shifted between Arthur’s legs, his gaze heated as it swept over Arthur laid out before him. He was gnawing his lip again as he looked, his eyes travelling over the mess Arthur had made of his stomach. It was Arthur’s turn to flush, and he rubbed a hand over his face, unable to hold Merlin’s eyes. In a moment he would sit up and pull himself together and reciprocate one way or the other, but for now he just needed to collect himself. 

He nearly jumped when Merlin’s fingers touched his stomach, coating them in his release and when he opened his eyes, Merlin had brought his hands to his lips, darting his tongue out for a taste. 

Arthur made a distressed sound, because it just wasn’t fair what Merlin was doing to him - and if he had known that he could be such a shameless lay if he set his mind to it, he would probably have been less insistent to adhere to the hierarchical differences between king and servant. He was about to say something to that effect, but then Merlin swiped his hand through the mess once more, before bringing his hand down between Arthur’s legs. He held the tips of his fingers against Arthur’s entrance, his eyes silently asking for permission. 

“Have you ever done this before?” Arthur blurted out, wondering what kind of things he had missed apart from magic shenanigans. “With a man?” 

Merlin shook his head. “It’s probably not so different to sleeping with girls. But I will make it good. Arthur, I will make it so good for you.” Another oath, another promise, and Arthur believed him, knew that Merlin would. 

Still, he couldn’t help but tease him then, because nervousness was creeping up on him now as well. “How do you know you’re any good?” he challenged, giving in to the teasing smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

Merlin shrugged and looked away, but his finger was brushing warm and stickily against Arthur’s pucker, almost unconsciously. “ Girls told me,” he finally said, slipping the tip of his finger past the loosened ring of muscles. 

Arthur masked the hitch of his breath with a snort. “Girls will tell you a lot,” he said, his words coming out breathy instead of condescending, due to the crooking of Merlin’s finger. 

“Some were pretty vocal about it, I guess.” 

“Shit,” Arthur said, when the image slammed into his head, Merlin, with faceless pretty girls, having them on his narrow cot, standing up against a wall or bent over in the stable, pressing his hand over their mouths to shush their screams.

Merlin was watching him with his head tilted, his expression curious, before he suddenly shifted again, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Arthur’s mouth. “Why don’t you see for yourself, my lord, and you can have me later,” he whispered against Arthur’s lips, and with a whine, Arthur reached up and fisted a hand in Merlin’s hair to pull him down for a proper kiss, annoyed by how he had only just come and was already feeling his cock twitch against his thighs with renewed interest. 

“Stop… using.. my title… in bed,” he huffed out, biting harshly at Merlin’s lips. Against his mouth, Merlin smiled, then kissed him back, and Arthur didn’t care where that tongue had been, only wanted to lose his mind again. “You’re insufferable,” he groused, eliciting more amused laughter from Merlin. 

Kisses followed, more kisses, slow and wonderful and sensual, and Merlin’s fingers pressed into him, occasionally dipping into the cooling liquid on his stomach, before pressing back inside of him, searching and scissoring and making him squirm and pant. It felt good, he could hardly believe how good it felt, the way Merlin’s slender fingers moved in him, and before long he was desperate for more and he broke their kiss, panting against Merlin’s neck. 

“Now?” Merlin asked lowly, his voice shot, and Arthur nodded mutely, hissing a bit when Merlin’s fingers slipped from his body. He watched Merlin slick his cock with what was left of his release and Arthur had a moment to mourn the fact that he hadn’t even touched Merlin yet and vowed he would do so later and then Merlin shifted lower, reaching down to push Arthur’s knee up, exposing him to the cool air of the room and propped himself up on one elbow. 

The press of Merlin against him made his toes curl, unsure if he wanted to run or stay, and Merlin must have sensed it, because he placed a soft kiss against the side of Arthur’s mouth, before reaching down and adjusting himself, holding himself steady as he pushed forward. “It’s all right,” he said, “it’s…” he trailed off in a groan and Arthur dug his fingers into Merlin’s forearm against the pressure and then something gave way, his muscles loosened, and the sensation was so foreign and terrible and wonderful, of feeling Merlin there, in him, if barely, connected. 

Merlin’s moan was almost pained and he hung his head, resting his forehead in the crook of Arthur’s neck, his moist breath wetting the side of Arthur’s face. “Arthur,” he whispered, sounding desperate and thrown, then hitched his hips, sliding deeper, making them both shudder and grunt. It burned and stung, but Arthur wouldn’t trade it for anything, wanted more, more of that insane connection. 

“Yes,” Arthur murmured and raised his hips, gasping when Merlin slid even deeper until he could feel the coarse hair of Merlin’s groin brush against him. At some point he had wrapped his arms around Merlin, and he now loosened his hold, sliding them gently against the soft skin of Merlin’s flanks, down the small of his back, reaching for the round, pert swell of Merlin’s arse where his trousers still clung, only partly undressed. The skin was soft and heated and slightly furry under his fingers, and there was no way mistaking him for a girl, not when he flexed his muscles and pulled back, not when he thrust forward shallowly again, making Arthur cry out. 

Merlin hmmed, a soft, inquiring sound, and he pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at Arthur, his sweaty hair dishevelled on his forehead and sticking up in tufts at the back of his head, his face becomingly flushed, mouth wet and parted. He gave another, achingly slow roll of his hips, pressing into Arthur just so, his eyes flickering over Arthur’s face, tongue poking out to swipe the corner of his lips. There was a question in his eyes and Arthur nodded, digging his fingers into the small of Merlin’s back, enjoying the movement of taut muscle under soft skin. 

“You feel so good, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin whispered, sounding awed, and he ducked his head to press his lips to Arthur’s, even as he moved his hips again, another slow, careful roll that nonetheless made Arthur almost faint. He hadn’t imagined it would be like this, so immediate and raw, and he breathed out against Merlin’s lips before returning the kiss. Merlin moaned into his mouth, his hips giving a reflexive jerk, and Arthur felt the burn lessen, felt himself loosen. The next slide of Merlin’s cock into him was slicker, smoother and Merlin muttered out a low curse, his movements picking up speed and force. 

Something sparked inside him and he pushed into the thrust, rewarded by Merlin’s choked cry. “Like that, yes?” Merlin asked hoarsely, but he didn’t wait for an answer, just shoved forward with sudden urgency, all the breath escaping Arthur. Merlin’s hips picked up a rhythm, confident now, something primal and inconsiderate and inherently selfish. Gone was the carefulness from just earlier, and Arthur grunted out his consent, shoving back as good as he could, spurred on by how Merlin was bucking atop him. Their movements became fluid, a give and take, faster and harder until Arthur was crying out with every thrust, desperate unintelligible sounds interspersed with Merlin’s name. 

Merlin laughed at him, his eyes wild and exhilarated, his breath coming in desperate, shaky pants as he pistoned forward, his movements confident and sure. Arthur could believe him now, could believe that Merlin would have to silence some girl into not making so much noise, because he wasn’t faring much better. He never wanted it to end, couldn’t imagine it could get better, only it did. Merlin hit something inside him, something rough and slightly painful, and the touch shot through him with an intense wave of pleasure. 

“Shit,” Merlin muttered, rewarding his cry with more praise, “you’re so beautiful.” He gave another upward angled thrust of his hips, his eyes widening as he watched the answering reaction on Arthur’s face, his face splitting into a grin. There it was again, that wicked, pleased smirk, and Arthur had to admit that he was in love with that smirk, adored it, couldn’t stand it. 

“Sh.. shut up,” Arthur huffed, annoyed with himself for feeling so vulnerable and for Merlin being such a smug bastard, but it came out shaky, so he tagged on, “...and fuck me harder,” because it was worth it, seeing Merlin’s eyes widen before he snapped his hip like a punishment. 

It was Arthur’s turn to laugh as his body reacted in kind, another shot of pleasure/pain, and then Merlin’s mouth was on him, swallowed his laugh and his shout and all the ones that followed, hungrily eating them out of his mouth. Merlin growled, like a wild animal on top of him, like there was some ancient, barbarian power trapped inside his skin wanting to break free, and maybe, that was it, all that power he must hold, all that magic power. 

“This is no lie,” Merlin whispered roughly against his skin, and it took Arthur a long moment to connect his words to their earlier conversation, a conversation that felt like it had taken place hundreds of years ago. “Never a lie,” Merlin said solemnly, panting the words against Arthur’s lips before claiming his lips again, hard press of mouth, sloppy and clumsy and hot.

When Arthur came, it felt like his body was exploding, shattering into a million pieces. Merlin cried out against his mouth, his body tight, muscles punched as he jerked, his lashes dark on his cheeks, and he was so lovely like this that Arthur wished he could suspend that moment forever. Instead his eyes drank his fill, committing the image of Merlin falling apart to memory. 

Merlin dropped down on him with an uff, all his muscles loosening at once, his sternum connecting painfully with Arthur’s collarbone. “Oww, oww,” he laughed, his belly shaking, his body trembling atop Arthur. It made for a peculiar sensation where they were still connected, but Arthur couldn’t feel annoyed. 

Their bodies were slick with sweat and other things and every muscle in Arthur’s body seemed leaden with exhaustion. He listened to the sound of their wildly beating hearts until they slowed and found a matching rhythm, fingers carding through the damp mop of Merlin’s hair where he rested his head on his shoulder. He was reluctant to say something, because there were no words adequate to describe how he was feeling. He felt like he had been in a storm, at the mercy of some force of nature he could never possibly understand and he had barely made it out alive. At the same time, he wanted to return there, to the madness and urgency he had experienced, that crazy, out of this world bubble.

It was so quiet now, just Merlin’s gentle breathing against his neck. He couldn’t tell how loud they had been, surely they must have been loud enough to be heard in the hut. He mentally tracked back to where it had all started, what seemed a lifetime ago.

“So, sorcerer?” 

Merlin huffed out a breath against his neck and slowly shifted his hips, pulling back to slip from his body. They both winced, and Arthur grimaced, not particularly liking the feeling. He felt sore and sticky and a little bit disgusting and he pushed at the blanket shoved under his bottom, shoving it aside.

“I have magic,” Merlin said softly, the words mumbled against the skin of Arthur’s pectoral muscles. “Ever since I’ve been a little babe.” He paused, then glanced up to gauge the reaction on Arthur’s face. “I was born with it.” 

Arthur pursed his lips, then wrinkled his nose. “Well, could you do something about... You know?” he waved a hand at their intertwined bodies. 

Merlin raised his eyebrows mockingly, but then muttered something under his breath, a spell, words that sounded ancient and foreign, and at least the stickiness was gone. 

“Convenient,” Arthur commented, and Merlin laughed. 

“I use the same one on your laundry.” 

“Of course. You lazy arse.” 

Merlin shifted to the side, but left one leg thrown over Arthur’s, his hand coming up to play with the sparse, dirty blond hair on Arthur’s chest. 

“It’s getting cold,” Arthur tried, and Merlin rolled his eyes and then they flashed golden and both of their discarded blankets fluttered over them, settling softly. “Better.” 

“Who’s a lazy arse now,” Merlin muttered disdainfully, plucking at Arthur’s nipple and making him yelp. 

They were silent for a bit and Arthur sighed, enjoying the warmth of Merlin’s body next to his, the weight of his leg and arm, the warm puffs of his breath gusting over his neck and stirring his hair. 

“What now?” Merlin’s words were small and hesitant, like he was reluctant to utter them, but feeling the need to nonetheless. 

“Right now? We probably should get some sleep. And sneak out in the morning before the farmers wake.” 

“Are you embarrassed?” Merlin asked, snorting laughter against Arthur’s skin. It sounded slightly unbecoming and Arthur rolled his eyes. Idiot, he thought fondly. 

“Shut. Up,” Arthur groused, briefly jostling Merlin’s arm. 

“I meant… in general.” 

Arthur exhaled softly, then shook his head. “I don’t know.” He paused and turned his head to look at Merlin, who was biting his lip, looking unsure. “Probably figure out what it is you can do and see what of it is useful.” 

“I’m terribly useful.”

“That’s debatable.” 

“I could tell you about all the times where I saved your life and you thought it was your own brilliance,” Merlin muttered, then smothered a yawn into Arthur’s chest. 

“You’re going to be intolerable, won’t you?” Arthur asked, careful to go for a resigned tone of voice. 

“Serves you right, for all the times I had to listen to you blabber on about you getting off on your own arrogant self-love.” Merlin snuggled closer. 

Arthur decided a cuff over the head was in order for that particular bit of cheek. 

“Owww. You arse,” Merlin said, without heat, sounding sleepy. 

“You’re one of those falling asleep after, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Merlin hummed unashamedly, “also, I’m finally warm.” 

“Couldn’t you have… I don’t know, magicked it warmer?” 

“Pfft... ,” Merlin huffed tiredly, and Arthur blinked and thought that seemed just so typical. Suddenly, he thought it laughable that even for a second he had been worried about Merlin being a sorcerer. Obviously, Merlin was just Merlin. It didn’t matter if he possessed the power to turn Camelot into dust with just a few words or a wave of his hand. 

The dark sphere was blinking and fading away, settling the shed back into darkness.

“Everything will be all right,” Arthur whispered, listening to the changing pattern of Merlin’s breath as he slipped into sleep. “It’s going to be just fine.”

*-*

Merlin and Arthur had been back at the castle for just an hour and after having been thoroughly reprimanded by the king himself for sneaking out without telling anyone where he had gone when he left yesterday, Arthur was ready to return to his chambers and catch up on food and sleep. As promised last night, they had left the cottage in the early hours of the morning before anyone else was awake. Merlin’s skills had come in handy, because Arthur had insisted they left a gift, so the farmers would find a hare laid out at their door, a small offering for giving them food and shelter. It had taken them half a day to return to the castle on foot, and when they had finally arrived, they were tired, cold and hungry. 

When Arthur entered his chambers, he was happy to see that food had been brought up from the kitchen and his bathtub had been brought out. Merlin had arranged for it to the filled with heated water, and Arthur arrived just when the last servant emptied his bucket of water into it. There was a merry fire in the fireplace and his bed was turned down. With gratefulness for these luxuries, he remembered the hard, cold floor of the lean-to he had spent the night in, and while fond memories would stay with him from that night, he was sure he wouldn’t miss the straw and scratchy wooden blankets. Or the smell of sheep. 

“Good,” Merlin said when he saw him, “you’re still in one piece.” He was laying out a towel and a bar of soap, then stuck a finger into the bathwater. He glanced over his shoulder, quickly making sure that the other servants had left, before muttering under his breath. “Onhǽte þá wæter”. His eyes flashed golden, before returning to their usual blue. 

Arthur’s eyes widened when he remembered. “You boiled me with this spell once!” 

Merlin rolled his eyes and swirled his finger through the water. “You said it, once. It’s the perfect temperature now.” 

“It’s usually cold,” Arthur muttered as he started to strip, not bothering to go behind the changing screen. Merlin raised an eyebrow at him, but started to pick up his discarded clothing, nonetheless. 

“It’s cold, my lord, because that’s what bathwater usually is after it has been brought up three flights of stairs,” Merlin corrected him. 

“It’s cold, you idiot,” Arthur retorted, tossing his trousers at Merlin’s head, “because someone refused to use his magic to heat it! I could have had hot bathwater for years!” 

“I boiled you!”

“Just once!”

Merlin stared at him for a moment, then snorted, giggling helplessly. “You daft clotpole,” he said, but it sounded like an endearment, like he was laying his heart at Arthur’s feet. 

Arthur chose not to comment on it, because he was terribly pressed to say something back, and it would probably come in the guise of “you incomparable moron” and mean something completely different. 

Clearing his throat, Arthur stepped into the tub and lowered himself slowly, groaning when the warm heat suffused his cold and stiff limbs. Merlin was right, it was the perfect temperature. 

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, tossing the words over his shoulder, “Get in.” 

A prominent pause greeted him, then Merlin’s spluttering words. “What… I… you…?” 

“Find your words,” Arthur drawled, leaning his head back against the rim of the wooden tub. He closed his eyes, listening to the soft, even breathing indicating that Merlin was still standing unmoving to his right. 

“If you insist, Sire” Merlin finally said, and his words sounded mocking with a hint of an edge. Arthur allowed himself a smile at the dirty note and listened to the rustle of clothes, to fabric hitting the floor, then Merlin’s quick steps on the stone floor. 

He opened his eyes to watch Merlin fold his longs limbs into the tub, shuddering blissfully as he settled in the water. It was too small for two grown men and Merlin’s knees were almost in his face, so Arthur pulled his own legs in, giving him more room. 

“Warm?” he asked, watching Merlin slide deeper into the water. 

“Hmmm,” Merlin moaned in satisfaction, eyes dropping shut briefly. 

They were silent for a bit, and Arthur watched Merlin relax, noted how the steam made his hair curl and moisten the skin of his face. He should have felt ridiculous, crammed into a bathtub with another man, but it felt good and Merlin was so nice to look at, pale and beautiful, his chin slightly stubbly and his hair a mess. 

“Maybe, when I’m king I should conduct state business from the bathtub,” Arthur mused. “I heard they do that in North Umbria.”

Merlin blinked his eyes open, regarding Arthur with a look that clearly indicated what he thought of the idea. “I won’t allow it. Nobody should see my king in a bathtub.”

Arthur felt himself flush at Merlin’s words, pleased. 

“Also, the only business you should conduct in this bathtub is with me,” Merlin added dryly, and Arthur was torn between laughter and desire. 

“You suggest we have our private council meetings in here?” he asked teasingly, pursing his mouth and flicking a drop of water at Merlin. 

“If you want to call it a private council meeting when we fu-?”

“I meant, when I meet my court sorcerer for advise,” Arthur clarified earnestly, effectively cutting Merlin’s words off. 

Arthur had rarely seen Merlin without words, but Merlin just gaped at him, then sat up and leaned forward, water sloshing in the bathtub dangerously. 

“You… you mean it.” 

“I wouldn’t joke about this.” Arthur bit his lip, suddenly unsure of Merlin’s reaction. Maybe he was offering the wrong thing. “It has to stay a secret though. Very secret, very private council meetings. At least until I’m king. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” 

A grin started slowly on Merlin’s face, blossoming into a disbelieving, toothy smile. “I’m happy to serve you in any capacity you might require, my lord,” Merlin said, and his words were neither teasing nor laced with innuendo. 

“Good,” Arthur sighed, stretching out his leg and bumping it against Merlin’s. “Now that that’s settled, you could fetch us something to eat.” He had to admit, he particularly enjoyed how Merlin’s smile slipped from his face to be replaced with a stormy look from under narrowed eyebrows. 

“You invited me in here - I just got comfortable. Go fetch it yourself, royal prat,” Merlin glared, splashing Arthur with water. 

Arthur wiped the water from his face and glared back, waving a hand dismissively. “Just make it float… or something.” 

Merlin muttered something under his breath, a curse this time, no spell, and then directed his gaze at the table where food had been laid out on a platter. His eyes briefly flashed and the platter started to move, levitating through the air as if tugged by invisible strings. 

Once the platter was in reach, hovering just a couple of inches next to Arthur’s arm, Arthur reached out to pick a piece of cheese from the plate, before offering it to Merlin. He smiled, when Merlin’s eyes softened and his mouth quirked into a small grin again. “You’re going to feed it to me?” he asked, tilting his head and gazing curiously at Arthur. 

“Looks like it,” Arthur confirmed, shuddering a bit when Merlin took the small piece of cheese between his lips, flicking his tongue out to lick his fingers in the process. Merlin exhaled a small, satisfied hum, then twisted around and settled himself carefully between Arthur’s legs, leaning back to rest his back against his chest, his head with its damp, curly hair coming to lie on Arthur’s shoulder. Reflexively, Arthur wrapped an arm around him, his fingers splaying on the warm, soft skin of Merlin’s belly. 

“More room like this,” Merlin whispered softly, turning his head and pressing a small kiss against the side of Arthur’s neck, just underneath his ear. Arthur sighed, deciding that the emptiness of his belly wasn’t as urgent as the other kind of hunger he experienced at feeling Merlin’s naked skin pressed against his once more. In distorted images, last night’s memories came back to him, making heat curl in his body; Merlin’s mouth, his tongue, his hands. Merlin moving above him, into him. Merlin when he fell apart, crying out an approximation of Arthur’s name into their kiss. 

“So, if this is our first very secret, very private council meeting,” Arthur said, offering a slice of pear to Merlin, “what is your first advice?” 

Merlin took a moment to finish his pear, licking the trace of its juice from Arthur’s fingers, then craned his head and looked at Arthur, his eyes twinkling with merriment.“I would advise to have some food so that my lord has the endurance for what business lies ahead.” 

“Oh, and what business would that be?” 

“It’s about a delicate matter of state, my lord,” he said. 

“Is it?” 

“Completely. Very. Utterly. Delicate,” Merlin confirmed deadpan. 

“Let’s hear it, then, court sorcerer.” 

[The title brought a smile to Merlin’s face.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348571%22)

“Eat up and take me to bed, you clotpole.” 

“That’s very good advice, Merlin.” 

“Thank you, my lord.” 

“Very good advice, indeed,” Arthur whispered, ducking his head and pressing his lips against Merlin’s parted ones, enjoying the way Merlin moaned at the contact. Merlin’s mouth felt good, tasted good, spicy and sweet and he kissed him again, shuddering when Merlin’s tongue stroked against his. Another kiss then, open-mouthed and soft and addictive, and Arthur already had an inkling that they would finish most of the food later.

In a little bit they would relocate to the bed, and he would take his time and explore Merlin’s body the way he wanted to, laid out underneath him. He planned to sample and taste every crevice, every hidden corner, every dip and every curve. 

For now, he was content with just kissing, licking Merlin’s soft moans from his mouth. 

The End. 

Find me on tumblr: <https://nuttersinc.tumblr.com>

**Author's Note:**

> Update 2020-05-20: Sunfall_of_Ennien gifted me with this beautiful drawing of the last scene!  
> [ **A Tub for Two**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348571) (0 words) by [**Sunfall_of_Ennien**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfall_of_Ennien)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Tub for Two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348571) by [Sunfall_of_Ennien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfall_of_Ennien/pseuds/Sunfall_of_Ennien)




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